


Let's Kill Hitler

by updiddlyupup



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Anakin's not gone forever I promise, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Timeline Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-10-14 07:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10531974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/updiddlyupup/pseuds/updiddlyupup
Summary: Even in times of war, it's not usual to wake up with a different Jedi Master than the one you had when you went to sleep.





	1. Chapter 1

There was a quirk in space above the planet of Naboo.

 

Now, the skies above Naboo had never been numbered among the busiest in the galaxy - given both its position in relation to the inner core planets, and its tendency to be diplomatically unremarkable in most particulars -  a tendency which perhaps contributed to the amount of time it took  anyone to notice this taking place. Since its occupation by the trade federation just a little more than a decade before, air traffic both inbound and outbound had been carefully monitored, and there was little room for joyrides or gadding about outside of official air traffic lanes.

 

When it was finally noticed, by a small pseudo military patrol vessel doing some routine monitoring of upper atmospheric conditions, it was duly reported to the relevant authorities then promptly drowned in paperwork. It did not come to the attention of one Padme Amidala for almost a month after this, which was unusual. Even if she was no longer officially a member of the primary governing body, she had made it her business to know exactly what was going on, having long ago learned it was to her detriment if she didn’t. It was pure luck that she heard about it at all, tucked in among reports of incoming war refugees that she had worked so hard to facilitate a home for. She didn’t realise it’s relevance then, but of course she didn’t have all the pertinent details yet.

 

\--

 

For Ahsoka Tano, waking was seldom a pleasant experience. It usually meant early morning training, unexpected deployment, and, on several memorable occasions, imminent death. Today, if you could call such an early hour ‘day’, was not about to buck that trend.

 

She didn’t notice immediately what had shocked her out of slumber, entire body alert and ready for action. Staring at the ceiling she couldn’t hear any suspicious noises, or smell any suspicious smells. There certainly wasn’t anyone in the room with her, unless they were hiding in the small trunk she kept her robes in. Then again, there could be an entire colony of tiny people in there that she wouldn’t notice due to never actually wearing the things.

 

She looked at the trunk with suspicion in the dim light. There was something-

 

Not the trunk, it was definitely the trunk she had walked past on the way to bed, but the positioning of it was wrong. Usually she kept the clothes she actually wore in a ready to go bag on in the recess right above it, but she could see, even in the small amount of reflected light which made it’s way to the towering heights of the temple dorms, that there was no recess. Instead, her go bag was rested against the front of the trunk, presumably so she didn't trip over it in the night. It was terrifying.

 

This may be her bed, familiar in its rumpled stiffness for all she was away from the temple more than home these days, and that may be her stuff in the trunk, but there was little doubt in Ahsoka’s mind that this was not her room.

 

Now that she knew what to look for, the little details stood out - for all that the temple living quarters had been built with a common template in mind. The room was just slightly narrower than she was used to, the window a little further to the right.

 

How had she been moved without her noticing? And why?

 

Well, laying in bed wasn't going to get her any answers.

 

As swiftly and silently as only a Togruta Jedi could move, Ahsoka slipped out of bed. She reached under her side table in the vain hope of finding her lightsabers, more worried than surprised when her fingers met their familiar shapes right where she had left them before going to sleep.

 

What could this all be in aid of? As far as she could sense she was still in the temple, that familiar background hum of being surrounded by friendly force signatures the same as she had grown up with. The texture of the floor under her bare feet was the same as it had always been, smooth and slightly chilled, an incentive not to dally getting ready. The number of paces to the door was the same, and it opened readily to reveal a familiar apartment. Not the one she shared with Anakin, but Master Obi-wan’s apartment.

 

Mentally, Ahsoka revised her understanding of the situation from ‘dangerously unknown’ to ‘one of Anakin’s terrible pranks’. Though why he’d stuck her in his old room she didn’t know.

 

Maybe he thought Master Obi-wan would find it amusing? Relaxing just a little, she made her way into the living room, easily navigating the semi-familiar settings in the dark.

 

For all the time she had spent with the both of them, she really didn’t understand them sometimes. The two of them had a whole wealth of history she had only touched the edges of, and for all they had accepted her into their dynamic with little fuss, neither was the type to open up or make true connections quickly. Her feelings regarding the both of them bordered on attachment, and she knew Anakin felt the same for all the criticism he got for it. Master  Obi-wan was more inscrutable, but there had been moments between the three of them that made her wonder if this was what having a family felt like.

 

“Ahsoka?”

 

Speaking of.

 

“What’s going on?” Master Obi-wan asked. He flicked on the light, and they both took a second to let their eyes readjust. Once they had, Ahsoka almost wished she could turn them off again.

 

Master Obi-wan had _shaved_.

 

“Master _Obi-wan?_ ”

 

He blinked at her alarmed voice, then looked around as if to see what caused it. She had never seen him without that strange tuft of hair on his chin, though Anakin had once explained to her that Obi-wan hadn’t grown it until at least a year into his own apprenticeship. It’s lack gave the setting a strange feeling of unreality, as though her entire world had tilted sideways.

 

“Yes?” he said, evidently finding nothing wrong with the situation they both found themselves in. She wondered for half a moment if Anakin had somehow dragged him into whatever game he was playing, but immediately dismissed the thought. Obi-wan had a way of acting almost gentle around her, his affection deferred, as if it were somehow more acceptable to show care for her the way he couldn’t dare for Anakin. He would never agree to scare her like this.

 

“What?” she said, in a vain effort to find her mental footing, “What are you-” doing here, she couldn't say, because this was his rooms. What was _she_ doing here would be a more apt question.

 

“Is it the dreams?” he asked, voice concerned while rough from sleep, taking a step toward her. Had she woken him up? He got little enough rest already, being woken up in the early hours of the morning by a bewildered grandpadawan was the last thing he needed.

 

“Dreams?” she asked. It had been a while since she’d had to worry about prophetic dreams. Hers were usually immediate and easy to interpret, and she couldn’t recall having had one lately, certainly not any serious enough to have confided in Master Obi-wan of all people about them.

 

“We talked about this less than a week ago, did you really think I would forget?” he asked, taking the time to look her over top to toe as if _she_ were the one who regularly concealed their mishealth. “As I told you then, this is something we all go through. Dreams pass in time. Mine did, and yours will too.”

 

Ahsoka did not know how to deal with this. She had no recollection of such a conversation. Was Obi-wan remembering incorrectly, or was she? Given he was a Jedi Master, odds were it was her brains that had been scrambled, though Master Obi-wan got himself into enough of the type of situations that the opposite was just as possible.

 

“I’m sorry, Master Obi-wan,” she said, deciding it was best they stopped talking past each other, “I’m not quite sure how this happened, but I don’t remember why I’m here. Last thing I remember, I was going to sleep in my own room.”

 

A wrinkle appeared on Obi-wan’s brow as he tried to process this information without the normal shot of adrenaline which usually accompanied his unexpected awakenings.

 

“Your room?” he asked, as though the concept were foreign to him.

 

“You know, the one in the apartment I share with Anakin? My Jedi Master?”

 

At that, Obi-wan’s mouth thinned, and he suddenly seemed wide awake. He crossed the space between them, bracketing Ahsoka’s shoulder in his overly warm grip.

 

“Ahsoka,” he said, the concerned furrow of his brow suddenly more pronounced. “I don’t know any Anakin. And last I heard, I was your Jedi Master,”

 

If Obi-wan were the type to wear his feelings, Ahsoka could have almost called him insulted. As it was, she wasn’t in the frame of mind to care.

 

“But that’s not-” Ahsoka peered desperately into Master Obi-wan’s eyes. “What happened to Anakin?”

 

“Ahsoka, the only Anakin I can think of has been dead for over a decade. Are you sure this wasn’t one of your dreams?”

 

Despite the unreality of the situation, Ahsoka found herself automatically relaxing. It took her a moment to work out why, but once she did her sense of dislocation only increased.

 

Master Obi-wan was soothing her through what was unmistakably a training bond. Anakin had rarely used it this way, not much for being calm himself, but she did use the one they’d shared as a sort of positive feedback mechanism, portioning strength or determination or whatever else was needed during long and tiring campaigns. But it was no longer Anakin on the other end of that feedback, and Ahsoka found herself missing him with a sudden fierce yearning.

 

“Was it Anakin Skywalker, the Anakin you’re thinking about?” she asked.

 

Obi-wan’s face went from open concern to shuttered suspicion in an instant. Feeling suddenly cold, Ahsoka shrugged his hands from her shoulders and stepped back, giving her a better view of his momentary all body withdrawal before he managed to pull himself together.

 

“That would be him, yes,” he said stiffly.

 

“But he’s not dead, I saw him yesterday. He was just heading out as I was going to bed.”

 

Panic was beginning to set in, now. Ahsoka had to stop herself from folding her arms in on herself, knowing Master Obi-wan would see it for the tell it was. How could he not remember Anakin? Or think he died ten years ago, which was just as bad.

 

In an attempt to ground herself, Ahsoka stumbled the three remaining steps needed to take her to Obi-wan’s battered and much loved couch. As she sat down, gravity doing the work far better than her legs, she caught just the slightest smell of _difference._ The couch did not smell slightly charred, as though it had almost been set alight by careless mechanical work many years ago.

 

Anakin’s face when Master Obi-wan had told her _that_ particular story had seemed riotously funny at the time. Not so much now she was- wherever she was.

 

Now that she let herself get a good look at her surroundings, she couldn’t help but notice little inconsistencies, things that appeared slightly different to what she remembered them to be. Shelves set up differently in the kitchen, the pattern of the flooring more stylised than they had been last time she visited. The one she was familiar with must have been a replacement after another of Anakin's little ‘accidents’. Or maybe he hadn’t liked the original and deliberately sabotaged it, that sounded like something a less mature Anakin would do. Come to think of it, it sounded like something current Anakin would do.

 

Ahsoka breathed deep. Behind her should could feel Master Obi-wan hovering, plainly as good with dealing with overt displays of emotion as he’d ever been. It was oddly comforting, that one point of similarity. Live in the moment, she’d always been told, and at the moment she was confused but safe.

 

Focus.

 

What was the problem in the moment? That something had happened to Anakin.

 

What could she do about it?

 

Find out more information. Obi-wan had said he died over a decade ago, so she needed to find out the circumstances of that. Or, why Obi-wan now thought that that was what happened.

 

She also needed to figure out why she remembered, but Obi-wan didn’t. It wasn’t their bond. Frowned upon as keeping a training bond active after a padawans knighting was, she’d never been in any doubt that Anakin and Obi-wan kept theirs. It was too convenient otherwise, the way they still managed to work together, in sync as only training pairs could be. Which left-

 

-nothing.

 

They were both Jedi, and she doubted it was a physiological thing. There had been numerous studies which all came to the same conclusion; in the force, all species were equal, and interacted equally. Her training bond with Anakin felt no different than the one she now shared with Obi-wan, though by virtue of their personalities they interacted with it differently. That in mind, Ahsoka gave the bond a ping, signalling to Obi-wan he’d have more luck interacting with her now she’d centered herself a little.

 

In the corner of her vision, Ahsoka watched Master Obi-wan sidle his way around the couch before gingerly sitting down next to her. His mouth was tight, but his eyes were as soft as they always were when he looked at her.

 

“I promise you, Ahsoka, I’m not mistaken in this,” he began. He lifted his hands a second, as if to take hers in his, but seemed to think better of it and withdrew. “I see his mother at least once a year, and I can assure you she makes sure I never forget it. Understandable, of course, given there’s no-one else left for her to blame.”

 

“His _mother_?”

 

Anakin had never so much as mentioned his mother. She hadn’t realised until now that there might be something suspicious in that, but the Anakin Skywalker she had known had never been one to just leave his connections be. Something must have happened to her, as something had happened to Anakin in this strange reality.

 

“Yes,” said Obi-wan, back in more familiar territory. “Shmi Skywalker. She works at the SRPA along with Padme Amidala. You remember Padme, don’t you, you met at the Trescos function last year.”

 

“Of course I know Padme, she’s my-”

 

But she wasn’t Ahsoka’s friend. Not here, not now. Obi-wan was gazing at her calmly, eyes assessing. He was testing her, she thought. Trying to gage what she remembered, or thought she remembered. Trying to work out what to do with the familiar stranger who had taken the place of his padawan.

 

“Master Obi-wan,” she said, hating to hear her voice tremble, knowing perhaps that Obi-wan needed to hear it, “I don’t know what’s going on.”

 

Obi-wan sat back, and his eyes lost that hard edge. Ahsoka knew she’d played things right, and hated that she’d had to manipulate him like that. For all he’d probably realised she’d done it- that was his purview, not hers, and she hoped it never would be.

 

“I must admit I’m rather at a loss myself. Where could you even have heard the name Anakin Skywalker? The council kept the events on Naboo strictly under wraps,” said Obi-wan.

 

Naboo? That was- well, there were a lot of strange rumours about what happened on Naboo. Anakin had told her his side of it, but good luck getting Master Obi-wan to open up about what happened when he faced down the first Sith the Jedi had come across in a millennia.

 

“Anakin died on Naboo?” she asked, still at a loss that this was her reality now. Perhaps she had been captured, and this was all some strange mind game? It was a strange way to go about things, if so, but she’d be careful what she said in any case. Real or virtual, the best course of action seemed to be to play along. It all felt real, and the force wasn’t giving her so much as an uneasy feeling, an odd thing to consider given her current situation - whatever that was.

 

“I’m afraid so,” said Obi-wan. “He somehow ended up in the midst of an orbital battle, and was killed after being caught up in the explosion of a droid control ship.”

 

Well, she had her divergence.

 

“Anakin told me about that, after the first time I met Padme,” said Ahsoka. “He said he and R2 destroyed the control ship and got out just in time. It was the main reason the council decided to let you train him, despite their misgivings. Nobody but the chosen one could have achieved that.”

 

At that, Master Obi-wan gave her a look, one of mingled disbelief and strangled grief, and she knew. She’d got him. She didn’t know how, but he now believed there was more at play than an apprentices faulty memory. Almost against her will, she felt her shoulders loosen. She wasn’t alone in this, she would not have to fight for the support of her only known ally. She had someone to watch her back now.

 

“The chosen one-” Obi-wan finally managed, swallowing his unappealing emotions back beneath the fathomless calm of his surface, “-the council never, _and_ you know the name of the droid. These aren’t visions you’re talking about, are they? Those are never so kind as to be so precise.”

 

His facade was strong, his voice steady. Only someone who knew him well would notice the slight tightening of his hands where they rested in the folds of his sleep tunic.

 

“They’re memories, Master Obi-wan. You have to believe me!” Though by now she was sure he did. It was never wise to underestimate a person's capacity for self denial, Master Obi-wan had taught her that. “When I went to sleep my Jedi Master was Anakin Skywalker, your former padawan. He said, when you agreed to teach him, it was because you made a promise.”

 

“To Master Qui-gon,” he completed for her, the grief pouring back, hanging in the air between them. This was an Obi-wan who’d never got a chance to fulfil that promise.

 

“Yes,” she said, simply.

 

“Okay,” Obi-wan breathed, visibly pulling himself back together. “We need to talk to Master Yoda about this.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you for all the comments and kudos :)

There are few things worse than having to function on not enough sleep. Ahsoka’s idea of what constituted ‘enough sleep’ may have altered a bit since the start of the war, but bolstering yourself with the force only got you so far, not to mention it still left you with that grainy stretched feeling of not fitting properly in your own skin. Having decided the night before that Master Yoda would not be in the best of moods if disturbed unnecessarily so early in the morning, Master Obi-wan had sent her back to bed with orders to get as much sleep as she could. Looking at him now, Ahsoka suspected he’d managed to get about as much rest as she had.

 

“Tired?” he asked her wryly as they exited his apartment at as close to a respectable hour as either of them could manage right now. They were heading toward Master Yoda’s personal apartments, as any attempt to speak to him officially was bound to get caught up and stymied by official war business before they even got started. They would be lucky to catch him, they were all so busy these days, the order as a body overcompensating to avoid being seen as doing nothing

 

Ahsoka snorted, but played along, falling in behind him as he made his way along the corridor. “Slept like a crechling. No. In all honesty Master Obi-wan, I was too busy thinking. There’s just so much to consider, and I kept thinking up new things that I just don’t know anymore. None of my memories are real here!”

 

“My night was much the same, I’m afraid,” he said. “What has happened is - well, I’ve never read any literature about such a thing even being possible. Timetravel, of course, has it’s share of treatises, but that fact you seem to remember a different iteration of our timeline is entirely unforeseen.”

 

True to form, it seemed that now Master Obi-wan had gotten over his shock he was ready to treat the whole thing as an intellectual exercise. If even Obi-wan Kenobi, one of the most widely read force sensitives she’d ever met, had never come accross an account of something like this happening before, they must really be in uncharted territory.

 

“Not even in the restricted council only archives?” she asked, even if she wasn’t supposed to know they existed. The focal point of many an initiate tall tale, the restricted archives were one of the biggest incentives a Jedi had to go on the council in the first place, at least as far as she could tell. Maybe Master Obi-wan might say something about serving the order to one's greatest capacity, but she knew that forbidden knowledge was what he was really after.

 

“How could I possibly have access to - Ahsoka, do you think that _I_ am on the council?” he sounded almost scandalised, and Ahsoka had to fight back an inopportune fit of giggles as she felt the familiar sense of unreality be to set back in. 

 

“Yes,” she said, now knowing differently. What else had changed? How often was this going to happen, this new reality suddenly turning around just to kick her in the teeth. Beside her, Obi-wan suppressed a sudden snort.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, glancing back as she startled, “I just can’t help but picture the looks on their faces if anyone nominated me for a council seat.” At least one of them could find something amusing about the whole situation.

 

“They don’t like you?” she asked. It was a concept too foreign to really consider. For all he didn’t really like to acknowledge it, if the Jedi Order could be considered to have a favourite son, it would be Obi-wan Kenobi. Not that he was perfect, but he had a way of coming across as such even while flagrantly breaking the rules. Maybe it was because, in his heart of hearts, he still truly  _ believed  _ in the Jedi order in a way that few still did. It was branded across his soul, and in every breath he took. Obi-wan Kenobi  _ was _ Jedi.

 

“It’s not a matter of like, Ahsoka. In fact, I like to believe that several of them are quite fond of me. I wouldn’t get away with half of the stunts I tend to pull, otherwise. Which is just the problem. I hardly feel my temperament suits to sitting on the council, I’d go half mad.”

 

“But you’re the calmest person I know!” she said, before she could really think about it. Sure, the Obi-wan she remembered would do some hairbrained things at times, but- “sure, you’re occasionally a little reckless, but I guess you’re pretty much always doing it in the general vicinity of Anakin, who could make a rampaging zillo beast look steady and considerate. So nobody tends to notice much.”

 

It was hard to tell from this angle, but she was pretty sure Obi-wan looked amused. His stride took on a bit of a swagger for just a second, and Ahsoka had to add a slight skip to her gait in order to keep up. Sometimes being the shortest person around was really annoying. 

 

“Well,” he said, “having spent the last decade without an Anakin Skywalker to shift the blame onto, I’m afraid my actions have had to stand on their own.” He didn’t sound too worried about this, but as always with Master Obi-wan it was hard to be certain.

 

“And they don’t make you look good?” she asked. If she was going to have to be Master Obi-wan’s padawan for the moment, she should know what she’s getting in for.

 

“I’m afraid not,” he answered, sparing her an apologetic backward glance. This really should be a discussion held face to face, but neither of them were the type to actually make space to air out their issues, so it had to be done on the run. Literally, in her case. Master Obi-wan had sped up as if in an unconscious desire to escape the present conversation. “I’ve rather suspected the reason they gave me a padawan in the first place was in the hope that responsibility would reign in some of my worst impulses.”

 

“That’s why they gave me to Anakin! At least, I think,” she said, her breath beginning to quicken in response to their increased pace. They were approaching Master Yoda’s quarters now, and Obi-wan finally began to slow down enough for her to draw level with him. 

 

“You make him sound like quite the firebrand. We would have gotten along well, I think,” he said. Master Obi-wan’s stride skipped a beat, and from the side Ahsoka could see his shoulders looked suddenly stooped. His very posture looked sad, as though weighed down by an old grief. A friendship never realised, and Ahsoka felt suddenly, desperately sorry for him. She couldn’t imagine what her own life would be if Anakin had never touched it, though it seemed like she was now getting to find out.

 

“You did,” she said, as though it was any consolation. “At least, you did when you weren’t trying to be the responsible one.”

 

They took the last corner side by side, feet falling into step despite Obi-wan’s longer stride, and finally halted before the door. Instead of knocking, Master Obi-wan grasped her shoulders, turning her until they were eye to eye. He looked serious, his chin firm and his eyes grave.

 

“There is no need to be nervous, Ahsoka. Master Yoda must think a lot of you, to assign you to tame not one but two out of control Jedi in two different realities,” he said, with just a hint of humour.

 

She wasn’t quite sure if that was a compliment, but she knew he meant it as one.

 

“I hope so? I mean, he always seemed pleased with me, as far as I could tell.”

 

“Yes, it is hard to tell with Master Yoda,” Obi-wan mused, straightening up - as though he wasn’t as transparent as permacrete.

 

“Are you ready to tell him everything?” he asked.

 

“Everything I know, at least,” she said. Which wasn’t much, but she didn’t think they’d find out anything much more without the council’s cooperation.

 

“That’s all we can hope for,” Obi-wan said, turning to face the door. It was just as deceptively unimposing as the one she knew, and just as intimidating.  They didn’t knock, because you never knocked on Master Yoda’s door. They let themselves in, quiet and respectful as they had always been taught, and settled themselves down on two ratty meditation mats. If they had ever been changed in Ahsoka’s lifetime, you wouldn’t have guessed it, but they were clean and smelt of the same soft scent all Jedi laundry smelled of. It was oddly comforting in its familiarity.

 

As settling as the surroundings were, it was all Ahsoka could do to keep from fidgeting. She was supposed to be better than this - a padawan, not an initiate - but lack of sleep combined with the unusualness of the situation lead to  an unease she couldn’t calm within herself, whatever her training said. She suspected it was because the stressors in this environment were far different to the ones she was used to dealing with on the front lines. Jumping into battle was easy, if this could be considered the alternative. She was saved from having to deal with this for too long, however, as soon the clacking of Master Yoda’s gimmer stick on the hard floor surfacing heralded the Grand Master’s imminent arrival.

 

“Hm. Anxious to see me, Padawan Tano is,” Master Yoda said from behind her, as always unprovoked.

 

He looked as inscruitable as ever, emerging from his private rooms at a pace. After being confronted by Master Obi-wan who - while indubitably the same man - had by beardlessness alone set her stunned, he was a welcome sight.

 

“Yes, Master Yoda,” she said, which was always the best bet while talking with the Grand Master.

 

“A great disturbance in the force, I felt. Your doing, hmm?” he said, making his way to settle on the cushion directly in front of her, theatrically grunting as he lowered himself down. He didn’t even glance at Master Obi-wan, secure in his position as the center of attention. If there was one thing Master Yoda never tired of, it was reminding everyone at large of how much older he was than those around him.

 

“I, maybe?” Ahsoka said, then winced. There was an art to talking to Master Yoda, and that wasn’t it.

 

“Maybe, you say! Almost as bad as trying, maybe is,” Master Yoda said, squirming himself deeper into his cushion with much muttering. As used to working her way past his mannerisms to get to the deeper wisdom as Ahsoka was, she still had to hold back from defending herself. If she lived to eight hundred, she suspected that she’d develop some pretty irritating habits too.

 

“If it wasn’t her, she got caught in it, Master,” said Obi-wan, intervening before they could get side tracked. “I didn’t feel anything, but I believe Ahsoka when she says things have... _ changed _ .”

 

Master Yoda paused to take this into consideration.

 

“Changed, you say? Different from what you know, things are?” he said, leaning forward in interest, his intelligent eyes at once serious and trained on her to the exclusion of all else, irritation with the meditation mat forgotten.

 

“Yes, Master Yoda. Until I woke up early this morning, I was not the padawan of Master Obi-wan, but of Anakin Skywalker.” 

 

It felt good to get it out, now in Master Yoda’s capricious but inescapable hands. Having done so, it was not just her problem, or even the problem of a Master and Apprentice, but a problem of the Jedi Order, to be confronted and solved together. It was how it had been Ahsoka’s whole life, and becoming a Padawan to Anakin Skywalker hadn’t changed how she felt about belonging to the Jedi Order, even if it had complicated things a bit. The Jedi were her home, her family, and she’d done her best over the last year or so to not to let internal divisions become personal ones.

 

“Anakin Skywalker, you say. A name I have not heard in several years, that is.” Master Yoda harrumphed, as though dismissing an unpleasant thought. “Dead, Anakin Skywalker is,” he said. “At one with the force, not making a Jedi of Padawan Tano.” Master Yoda got up, using his stick to leverage his body with a grunt. He took several steps toward Ahsoka and Obi-wan, his eyes never leaving Ahsoka’s, then gave Master Obi-wan’s thigh a quick rap. They could all feel the tension as Obi-wan deliberately didn’t react. “Training Padawan Tano, Master  _ Kenobi’s _ job is.”

 

“I know what I remember, Master Yoda,” she said. She wished, suddenly, that she’d had more time to ask Master Obi-wan about his relationship with the Council. He’d said some of them were fond of him, but Master Yoda was acting far more abrupt, and with far less patience, than she ever seen him be before.  _ Especially  _ around Obi-wan, who she’d always thought him rather fond of, in his own ineffable way.

 

“Hmm,” was all Master Yoda said in reply, telling her nothing. Ahsoka took a deep breath to prevent her teeth from grinding. Knowing Master Yoda he was trying to teach the both of them a lesson, but she was tired - both physically, and metaphorically. Couldn’t he just help for once? They wouldn’t forget how to think for themselves if he was straight with them on occasion, though Obi-wan might fall over in shock.

 

“I’m inclined to believe her, Master,” interjected Obi-wan, perhaps sensing the direction of her thoughts. “She knows things she shouldn't. About the chosen one, and about Master Qui-gon.”

 

“Alive, she also thinks Qui-gon Jinn is?” asked Master Yoda, finally turning his eyes away from her. She hadn’t realised she’d tensed up, but now out of the line of his gaze and he questions, she let her shoulders ease.

 

“No, but she knows about the promise I made him.” Obi-wan paused, seeming to realise they had strayed into very personal territory, and in the company of a member of the Council to boot. Had he ever told anyone about his promise to his dying Master? Ahsoka couldn’t imagine he’d have any reason to, in a reality where there was no boy left alive for him to train.

 

“A promise you made, hmm?” asked Master Yoda. Either he was being unusually circumspect, or Obi-wan really hadn’t talked about this before today. Given what she knew of him, she couldn’t find it in her to be surprised.

 

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Obi-wan replied. “It became irrelevant after, but the last thing he asked me was to train Anakin Skywalker.” He was making a stubborn attempt at emotional distance, but even the most unobservant of Jedi would have noticed by the set of his shoulders and the slight clench of his fists that Obi-wan Kenobi did not want to be having this conversation. Ahsoka knew it was for her sake he felt duty bound not to talk his way out of it either.

 

“Against the Council's wishes, this would have been,” said Yoda, questioning.

 

“Yes, Master,” said Obi-wan, eyes straight. “But I still would have done it.”

 

Ahsoka could picture it, suddenly, in a way she’d never been able to before. It had always been hard to fathom, while watching Obi-wan demure before the council, talking his way around whatever stunt Anakin had decided to pull. But watching him now, calmly looking Master Yoda in the eye as he refused to yield a decision he hadn’t even had the chance to make so long ago, was a revelation. It was more like watching him face down a separatist General, or Sith apprentice. He knew who was going to win this confrontation, he had the confidence of the force behind him. That there was no Anakin Skywalker left to teach made no difference. He was secure in his convictions. 

 

“You did do it, Master Obi-wan,” Ahsoka said, the weight of that conviction buoying her along too. “Anakin was one of the most talented knights in the order.”

 

Obi-wan broke his gaze with Master Yoda, and they both turned to look at her. There was a warmth there, an easing of tension between them.

 

“Something all Padawans think of their Masters,” said Obi-wan, obviously grateful for the distraction.

 

Yoda, whose Master was long since passed into the force, made no comment. He turned and made his way over to Ahsoka, leaving a more relaxed Obi-wan behind him. Obi-wan could pay her back later.

 

“A closer look, I shall take,” said Master Yoda. He gestured with the force, dragging his meditation mat to sit just in front of her, and planted himself down on it. Ahsoka had a fleeting hysterical thought that it was terribly hypocritical of Master Obi-wan not to say anything about frivolous use of the force, given the many lectures both she and Anakin had received on the subject, but decided discretion was the order of the day. For all she knew, this Obi-wan spent the majority of his free time using the force in frivolous ways.

 

Now settled, Master Yoda held his hands out to her. She placed hers in his, gripping lightly to avoid damaging his claws, now brittle with age. He handled her mind just as gently, brushing against it, but never delving further than was strictly needed.

 

“Interesting, the shape of your mind is,” said Master Yoda, his eyes now closed. “Not changed by the force, but unchanged while the force around you is reshaped.”

 

“So events have been altered?” asked Obi-wan from beside her, anxious and for once doing little to hide it. As relieving as it was for Ahsoka personally to find proof she hadn’t gone crazy, the implications of time travel or dimension shifting or whatever it was that had caused the retroactive death of Anakin were so boundless, she couldn’t even begin to think of all of them.

  
“Changed, the flow of events has been,” Yoda confirmed. “Not dead, should Anakin Skywalker be.”


	3. Chapter 3

Though not Ahsoka’s least favourite activity, researching in the Archives definitely rated below, say, lightsaber forms or retellings of aggressive negotiations which ‘totally happened this way Snips I swear’ (Anakin wasn’t quite as good a storyteller as Obi-wan, but he was far better at embellishing and tended to skip all the bits that Obi-wan kept in because they taught important lessons etc.).

 

Master Yoda had not been able to recall anything like this happening before, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t. Which meant research. He may seem like an eternal, unchanging and essential part of the Order, but the truth was it was far older than even him.

 

The real problem was that she was researching with Obi-wan. She didn’t quite feel like she could beg off, or find her own sources of information because she still hadn’t quite got a handle on what their relationship was like in this reality. She was more than a little worried about putting any foot wrong. She needed Obi-wan - and her bond with him - as an anchor if nothing else. She just needed to find a way to remind him they had both got very little sleep last night, and if they kept on she was going to start snoozing at the desk she was currently sat at.

 

“There’s nothing here!” she said, just barely refraining from slamming down the dry treatise on shatterpoints she had been attempting to plow her way through. The concept was interesting, but there was no way she could stay engaged through the author's attempts to bury their point in a sea of academic jargon some 400 years out of date.

 

“Ahsoka!” admonished Obi-wan, peering out from behind his own pile of datapads. Looking at him, she suspected he felt as tired as she did. And every bit as unmoored.

 

“So you’ve found something relevant and haven't told me about it?” she asked, mulish.

 

“No, I just don’t want to get kicked out again,” he said, clearing the space between them with a careful sweep of his hand to preserve the precarious, haphazard stacks.  

 

“Kicked out?”

 

Obi-wan looked almost shifty.

 

“Never mind that. I think you’re right. If the Jedi Order has ever encountered time travel before, we haven’t written it down.”

 

Ahsoka knew Obi-wan well enough to know she wasn’t getting _that_ tale out of him in his present state of mind. Or anything short of blind drunk, probably, given that Anakin wasn’t around to help her pester it out of him.

 

“So all this work, and we’re back to where we started?”

 

“That is the way of things, sometimes,” Obi-wan sighed, getting up. He hesitated a moment, dithering over his carefully curated stacks before turning away, obviously giving them up for a lost cause. The cleaning droids would have far better luck getting the back where they belonged, anyway.

 

“So what do we do now?” Ahsoka asked as they made their way out of the Archives. “Master Yoda has reassigned us from the front lines to fix this.”

 

She could have used the distraction of the battlefield, though she supposed that fighting clankers wouldn’t get them any closer to getting Anakin back. Plus, it was probably a good idea for her to get used to fighting at Obi-wan’s back first. He was a very different fighter from her master, and she hasn’t worked with him solo before. He usually took Anakin out into the field with him if he felt he needed a partner. Did her fighting style complement his? Did _she_ have the same fighting style, or was he going to have to learn to work with her just as much as she’s going to have to learn work with him?

 

“Well,” said Obi-wan, “unless you want to let the rest of the High Council rummage around in your head, I’m afraid we’re going to have to figure it out ourselves.” He said it with some sympathy, but Obi-wan never had been one to sugarcoat things outside the arena of the negotiation table. They had all the resources of the Jedi at their disposal, but peoplewise they only had themselves. It was not an unfamiliar feeling.

 

“I’d prefer not to,” she said. Master Yoda and Master Obi-wan were bad enough.

 

“Perfectly understandable. But as your brain is the only evidence we have that any change has taken place-” Obi-wan paused.

 

“-Master Yoda won't push because it’s more trouble than it’s worth, right now.” she finished.

 

“I think it’s better not to put that to the test,” said Obi-wan diplomatically.

 

Which was fair. They were at war, the last thing they needed was infighting in their highest ranks. The councillors were pretty much running the war effort - internal strife wasn’t just an inconvenience, it could also cost lives.

 

No, what they needed was solidly incontrovertible truth. Failing that, they need to stay out of the council’s way while they solved the problem themselves. Not the best option, as they’d be needed back at the front sooner or later, but they could only work with what they had. Anakin’s return wouldn’t just be a personal accomplishment, but, given his talent as a general, it would also be a bolster to strained resources. Seen that way, doing what they were doing _was_ helping the war effort.

 

“What if we could find proof somewhere else?” asked Ahsoka. There had to be some other effects out there, it beggard belief that a change in history wouldn’t leave some sort of aftereffect in the force. They just had to find it.

 

Obi-wan stopped walking and bought his hand to his chin, a gesture made odd by his lack of beard. She’d almost stopped noticing its absence, but the familiar action bought it back. Her heart ached, just a little. This may be an Obi-wan, but he wasn’t _her_ Obi-wan.

 

“Well, we do know where the changes took place,” he said. “Perhaps the altering of the timeline will have left some sort of residual trace in the force.”

 

“You want us to go to Naboo?”

 

“I don’t see we have any better options. The only problem is we’re on fairly unsteady diplomatic footing with the Naboo right now. We can’t just fly there on a whim.”

 

Of all the changes Ahsoka had come across since waking up in Obi-wan’s apartment, this one had to be the most inconceivable. Chancellor Palpatine was from Naboo, for stars sake! Not to mention Padme, who believed in the Republic more than anyone Ahsoka had ever met.

 

“But, you said you introduced me to Padme?” she asked, honestly bewildered. Even if Anakin wasn’t around for Padme to engage in awkward weighted silent arguments with, she couldn’t imagine Padme letting relations between Coruscant and Naboo get so bad.

 

“Padme is a personal friend, but it’s been a while since she’s held a political role on Naboo. I can see if she’s heard anything, though. I believe she still likes to keep her ear to the ground,” said Obi-wan. Looking around, he seemed to finally notice they had stopped to have this conversation in the middle of the hall, and ushered her through the closest doorway. It led to one of the temples many unused rooms, this one being repurposed as storage for traditional junior padawan ceremonial gear. It looked sad and abandoned, obviously not touched in several years. They didn’t really have time for that sort of thing, these days.

 

“So Padme isn’t the Senator for Naboo, then?”

 

Obi-wan looked honestly puzzled at that, and Ahsoka took heart in the fact he was allowing her to see it. He trusted her enough for that, at least.

 

“She is for you?” he asked. “I suppose that makes sense. She was making a lot of decisions due to guilt over what happened to Anakin, after the blockade. She didn’t have that to motivate her in the events you remember.” Ahsoka had a feeling that, Jedi detachment or not, Obi-wan had been making his own share of guilt driven decisions. He was the type, for all he tried to convince himself he was above that sort of thing.

 

“What is she doing, then? It’s hard for me to imagine Padme as anything but a Senator. I just can’t see her standing by while the galaxy slides into war.”

 

The look on Obi-wan’s face was fond, one she had sometimes seen when he thought she and Anakin weren’t looking. Anakin usually wasn't, for all he craved Obi-wan’s affection. He had said Padme was a personal friend. At least, if he didn’t have Anakin, he still had someone.

 

“She isn’t. Padme acts as a fundraiser and advocate for an organisation which arranges the freeing and integration into the Republic of those held in outer rim slavery,” he said.

 

That was certainly different. Padme, in the short time that Ahsoka had known her, had always been a passionate decryer of injustice, but as far as she knew slavery had never entered into it in the specifics.

 

“Why would Anakin’s death specifically push her toward that? I mean, it’s a noble cause, and definitely something I can see her being interested in, but-”

 

“You don’t know?” Obi-wan cut her off, a note of bafflement in his voice.

 

“Don’t know what?” she asked.

 

Obi-wan seemed to consider how best to put what he was about to say, adjusting his stance as though to brace himself. “Ahsoka, when my Master found him, Anakin Skywalker was a slave.”

 

Well, there was no real way to put that delicately.

 

“He. Oh. Why didn’t he-” she didn’t know how to finish that sentence without sounding selfish and hurt.

 

“I imagine he considered it a sensitive subject,” Obi-wan said, not unkindly. He placed him had rather tentatively on her shoulder, and Ahsoka leaned into it. You took your comfort where you could, even if she wasn’t quite used to getting it from Obi-wan just yet.

 

“I suppose, yeah.”

 

“Ahsoka-”

 

“So are you going to contact Padme?”

 

Please, Obi-wan, she didn’t say. He heard it anyway. Obi-wan always was better at that sort of thing, perhaps because he relied on non verbal communication far more than Anakin. You don’t become the Negotiator by being bad at social cues.

 

“Now?” he asked, but he was already releasing her shoulder and pulling out his comm.

 

“Might as well,” Ahsoka said, missing that anchor.

 

She held her breath as the comm went through, and Padme appeared in miniature. She didn’t look that different, a little plainer in dress, but still the kind and passionate woman that Ahsoka was beginning to get to know so well. _Had_ been beginning to get to know so well. She’d have to start again, as she was with Obi-wan. She wished, not for the first time, that there was a way to revert things back perfectly to the way they had been in her memories.

 

Obi-wan hadn’t thought it possible, when she’d suggested it. He said even if they learned how to time travel themselves and went back to save Anakin, things would always be a little bit different. So she was stuck trying to work with what she had. The only thing left was to try and make the best of it. There was no use thinking about how she would never see her Anakin and Obi-wan, or her Padme Amidala, ever again. Jedi moved on, they did not let the past define them. And she was a Jedi.

 

“Obi-wan?” queried the small projection of Padme Amidala, the confusion in her voice evident. It was always hard to judge body language with small portable holocomm units, but Ahsoka thought Padme looked tired. Fighting slavery in the midst of a war was probably an even more difficult task than fighting for compassion in the Senate. How many people would pay any attention to such a removed subject, when there was a war eternally on their doorstep?

 

“Hello, Padme, I’m sorry for the interruption,” said Obi-wan, then shifted the comm so it also encompassed Ahsoka. She gave a little wave.

 

“No, no,” said Padme. “I needed to take a break, you know how I get.”

 

Obi-wan smiled fondly at that. “Still as determined as ever to work yourself into exhaustion,” he said, but there was no censure in it. In the hologram, Padme smiled wearily back.

 

“As though you can talk,” she chided. “Hello, Ahsoka, it’s wonderful to see you again.”

 

“It’s good to see you too, Padme,” Ahsoka said, careful to keep the wistfulness from her face and voice. Even if this Padme were no longer a politician, she could probably still read body language as easy as she breathed. There was no need to alarm her, at least until they managed to speak to her in person.

 

“Now, as good as it is to speak to the two of you again..” Padme trailed off, and Ahsoka knew they weren’t being as subtle as they’d hoped.

 

“I didn’t just call to say hello, Padme,” said Obi-wan, not even attempting to prevaricate.

 

“I suspected not,” she said, with that particular tilt of her chin which cautioned an imminent loss of patience. It was devastatingly familiar. How many times had this Padme met the Ahsoka she no longer was? Once? Twice, maybe? She was friends with Obi-wan, but he wasn’t the type to go out of his way to maintain old connections. If Padme spent little time on Coruscant, or near the front lines of the war, then chances were they barely saw each other.

 

Ahsoka took a deep breath. Perhaps she was thinking about this all wrong. With Obi-wan, she knew he was feeling as wrongfooted around her as she around him. She wasn’t the Ahsoka he knew any more than he was the Obi-wan that she remembered. But with Padme, she had an opportunity. Padme had no real expectations of their relationship, because as far as she was concerned they didn’t have one yet. It would perhaps be a relief, not to feel as though she was coming up wanting when the person she was being measured up against was herself. Her other self.

 

Had the other Ahsoka, the one Obi-wan missed every time he looked at her, ever even existed? If the timeline had changed, but she had failed to change with it, what did that mean in terms of events? She wanted to talk about this with Obi-wan, but again she couldn’t talk about this with Obi-wan. She would never hurt him like that. She knew how hard it was, considering the Anakin she knew had never had a chance to exist. Who would even do such a thing? The mysterious Sith Master, always lurking in the shadows? Had Anakin Skywalker become so big a threat that they would change reality, just to shift the tides of the war?

 

It cut deep, the idea that she might never know.

 

“Padme-” she started, determined to cut through the pleasantries, but Obi-wan quelled her with a restraining hand to the shoulder and a glance.

 

“It’s about Anakin Skywalker, Padme. I need to see Shmi. Is she still on Naboo?”

 

Padme looked taken aback for just a moment, but recovered quickly. “Of course, but-”

 

“You know I wouldn't do this if it wasn't important,” Obi-wan interrupted, perhaps to stymie a foreseeable argument. He had said Anakin's mother didn’t like him much, so it made sense that Padme would try to avoid letting them meet. Ahsoka wished he’d mentioned before the call that her even wanted to talk with her in the first place, as she couldn’t see how doing so would help any. What could Shmi Skywalker know about the force?

 

“I know, Obi-wan,” Padme said, placating. “But I think maybe I should be there”

 

Obi-wan straightened, releasing his hold on Ahsoka. “Are you going back to Naboo, then?” he asked.

 

“I’ll be there in three days,” Padme replied, her small image flickering just an instant as she adjusted herself and began to sort through the work in front of her.

 

“Could you set up a meeting, then?”

 

Ahsoka, getting more and more annoyed at being so transparently left out of the conversation, attempted to step out of range of the comm, but found herself blocked by Obi-wan. He spared her only a quick look, no more than a slightly raised eyebrow, but the message was clear. Acting out right now would have consequences later, her ill defined status as his Padawan notwithstanding. Anakin had told her more than one horror story about what _that_ might involve.

 

“I’ll do my best,” said Padme, oblivious to the byplay, “but I can't make any promises. You know how she feels about you.” Pausing in her attempt to locate whatever it was she had misplaced on the table, she took a moment to glare at Obi-wan. “There’d better be a good reason for bothering her, and don't think you can avoid telling me about it, either.”

 

“I know, Padme,” said Obi-wan, looking for all the galaxy like he’d never intended to hide anything in the first place. “But when I get to Naboo, yes? I’d feel more comfortable telling you in person.”

 

Padme softened, just a little. Ahsoka didn’t think she actually believed everything Obi-wan was telling her, so something else must have just flown right over her head. It was almost as frustrating as when Obi-wan and Anakin got into the sort of mood that had them exchanging meaningful glances, as though they were being subtle and she wouldn’t notice.

 

“Okay, Obi-wan,” said Padme, “I’ll arrange the visas. I still have some people who owe me favours.”

 

“I greatly appreciate that, Padme,” said Obi-wan. “I’ll see you in three days.”

 

“See you, Obi-wan, Ahsoka,” said Padme, then with a last little wave she was gone. Obi-wan stared at the blank holocom a second, before blinking himself out of whatever deep thoughts he was having. He tucked it away, straightening out his robes as he did so, not quite managing to conceal his lost look before his face smoothed out. Perhaps he’d noticed her noticing. With Padme gone, he didn’t seem to know what to do next.

 

“Anakin’s mom really doesn’t like you, huh?” said Ahsoka, to fill the silence, pointedly not asking.

 

Obi-wan looked away.

  
“She sent her son away to have a better life, and he was dead less than a week later. Not liking me isn’t the half of it.”


	4. Chapter 4

It takes every bit of their scheduled three days to get to Naboo. For Ahsoka, used to travelling freely within the bounds of the Republic as both a Jedi and a member of the GAR, the amount of paperwork alone was an affront to her patience. They had been given the use of a small freighter from a less conspicuous section of the temples fleet, then had to wait around for over a day for Padme’s contacts to come through. When she’d asked Obi-wan about Naboo’s uncharacteristic aversion to Republic space traffic, given it was the birthplace of the Chancellor of the Republic if nothing else, he’d (instead of just  _ answering  _ her like a normal person) shoved a bunch of extra reading at her before going back to filling out forms. Apparently Padme was doing them a  _ big favour _ , and they were going to take it as intended. Even if it did involve excessive amounts of bureaucracy.

 

The freighter, they found when they’d finally been given permission to depart, was worn down  but serviceable. Ahsoka had immediately dove into the guts of the thing, keen for a familiar distraction, Obi-wan looking on in fascination. Apparently she hadn’t know how to do this sort of thing before, which was understandable given it was a habit she’d picked up from Anakin. She tried not to let it get to her.

 

Obi-wan didn’t pull her out of her mood laden self exile until they were approaching Naboo, perhaps glad she had found something to distract herself with. Unfortunately, this meant she didn’t really have enough time to scrub all the grease off, and she found herself still rubbing at smudges on her skin as they came in to land, an odd jittery feeling making the movements more frenetic than was strictly warranted.

 

“There’s no need to worry,” Obi-wan said, taking notice. Like he wasn't doing his best to subtly adjust his own robes, the hypocrite. The Obi-wan she remembered was somehow more subtle than this one, and Ahsoka was startled to find she found it endearing rather than alienating. “You said Padme considered you a friend, which I doubt will be any different here. She hasn’t changed that much since I met her.” He somehow managed to make this sound like both a severe indictment of her character, and something he found himself admiring. Despite the dissimilarities, Ahsoka was coming to suspect that this Obi-wan hadn’t changed much from his earlier days either. Maybe her version was the one who had changed.

 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said, unable to keep her own council even now. “With you, it’s hard to forget, what with the beard if nothing else. But talking with Master Yoda was just off putting. Things that shouldn’t even have been an issue kept putting my back up. Because to me he was exactly the same, but to him I wasn’t.”

 

Obi-wan raised his hand halfway to his chin, before stopping as he noticed her noticing. “I’m sure as soon as we explain what is going on, Padme will be more than willing to forgive any overfamiliarity,” he said, tucking his hands almost self consciously into the opposite sleeves of his robe.

 

“I know, I just don’t want her to feel that she has to,” said Ahsoka. She straightened her own clothes, thankfully no different to what she usually wore before, in an effort to hide her own jitteriness. She’d had no room to truly relax, no safe harbour, that must be the problem. And now she was about to see Padme, and she still hadn’t read up on the Naboo situation, or asked Obi-wan why he was so insistent about seeing Anakin’s mom, and on top of it all  _ she couldn’t stop moving _ . She needed to stop putting these things off, but it was too late now, if the sound of the engines coming into land was any indication.

 

Sure enough, the loading ramp began to descend after a shrill of beeps sounded from the cockpit. She almost hadn’t believed it, when Obi-wan had told her he’d bought along a droid to drive.

 

“Obi-wan! Ahsoka!” called Padme, dramatically revealed. She looked as put together as ever, an immaculate confection paired down into practicality but still somehow more elegant than Ahsoka could ever hope to be. She was also alone.

 

“It’s as wonderful to see you as always, Padme,” said Obi-wan, looking around as though Shmi Skywalker might be hiding amongst the N-1’s. “But I was hoping-”

 

“She’s not here, Obi-wan, but I did talk to her and she said she might drop by later,” said Padme. 

 

Obi-wan looked put out. It demonstrated more lack of control than she was used to seeing from Master Kenobi, but she found she didn’t mind. If she learnt nothing else from this experience, it was that Obi-wan Kenobi was just as fallible as the rest of them. This one just wasn’t as good at hiding it.

 

“ _ Might _ drop by-” he began to say, probing. He exited the ship in two quick strides, Ahsoka following along behind. What was so important about Shmi Skywalker? It couldn’t just be because she was Anakin’s mother, Obi-wan was being too persistent for that. It certainly didn’t seem to be doing him any favours where Padme was concerned, either.

 

“It’s as good as I could manage, Obi-wan, I’m sorry,” Padme said, but she didn’t really look it. Ahsoka got the feeling that Shmi Skywalker was a subject they had argued about before, more than once.

 

“No, it’s okay, Padme. It’s just, our business here concerns her more than anyone.”

 

This did not seem to make Padme feel any more accommodating.

 

“She’s finally healing, Obi-wan,” she said sternly, motioning to them to follow her from the hangar bay as she began walking at a brisk pace. “I don’t want you reopening old wounds.”

 

“Padme,” Obi-wan called out, and something in the tone of his voice made Ahsoka feel suddenly, deeply worried. Still, this was Obi-wan Kenobi. Master Negotiator, charmer of hostile forces all over the galaxy. What could he possibly- 

 

“We think someone has deliberately erased Anakin Skywalker from history,” he said. Padme froze, and turned back to them, face incredulous. And here Ahsoka had been thinking he was going to be diplomatic about it.

 

“I’m going to need a drink before I hear this, aren't I?” said Padme, sounding almost resigned. Ahsoka wondered if they’d be willing to let her have any.

 

\--

 

Theed was a beautiful city, a fact Ahsoka hadn’t had much time to appreciate the last time she’d visited. The Naboo were far more adept at melding the organic with the artificial than most other civilisations she had interacted with in the last few years, and given that she’d spent her younger years on Coruscant - a city planet with very little room for the natural world, at least for everyone not the ultra-rich - Ahsoka was glad when they headed away from the palace and out into the bustling streets of the metropolis.

 

They made their way in silence, though whether this was by Obi-wan’s design or Padme’s, Ahsoka didn’t know. Perhaps they were both giving each other the silent treatment. It wasn’t until they arrived at Padme’s private residence that Obi-wan did his best to explain matters to a still skeptical Padme, as she sat them down on her rooftop patio, glass in hand. Ahsoka sank to her knees in the grass, still damp from the night before. They must have arrived in the early morning, the sun just up. Taking in her surroundings, the patchwork of vibrant, carefully cultivated gardens spread out around her, Ahsoka let the living force suffuse her, as odd as it felt to do so outside the temple gardens. The force felt...off center, though given how little she’d done this sort of thing lately, she didn’t have a hope recentering herself solo to figure out why. Obi-wan hadn’t seemed to notice anything. Putting it aside for a later date, she let her attention drift back to the conversation.

 

“So you’re saying that someone - you have no idea who - invented time travel for the sole purpose of travelling back in time to murder a nine year old boy,” Padme was saying, her voice skeptical. Very glad to be the Padawan, and therefore exempt from having to explain this nonsense, Ahsoka lay back in the grass and let the definitely not an argument wash over her.

 

“I didn’t say they invented it, Padme,” said Obi-wan, with just a smidgen less than his usual patience. To be fair to him, it had been a long few days. To be fair to Padme, that didn’t make what they were telling her any less bizarre. “And the aim wasn’t to murder a nine year old, but to prevent him from becoming the man he grew into.”

 

“Who was Ahsoka’s Jedi Master,” Padme said, hoping to clarify, which was Ahsoka’s entry into the conversation. 

 

“He’s the one I remember, yes,” she said, turning her head but not sitting up. Padme and Obi-wan were both sitting in garden chairs like the boring dignified people they were; Obi-wan with his hands buried deep within his cloak - probably to hide the fidgeting - and Padme perched faced toward Ahsoka, shoulders regal and face serious, empty glass dangling from her fingers.

 

“What was he - like?” Padme asked, suddenly tentative, placing her glass to the side. Well, at least she seemed to be open to the  _ idea _ of believing them.

 

“Uh,” said Ahsoka, eloquently. “He was, um. Really good at lightsabers?” behind Padme, Obi-wan slowly closed his eyes in what was probably pained mortification. Ahsoka soldiered on. “He was kinda brash, and he butted heads with the Jedi council a lot, but he could be really kind, too. He really loved flying, and he spent more time than he should’ve tweaking our equipment. Once, we got ambushed while he was in the middle of ‘repairing’ the Twilight, and he ended up having to, um-” Ahsoka found she had to stop talking. She watched silently as Padme reached up to wipe at the tear that was slowly making it’s way down her cheek. She suddenly kinda felt like she wanted to cry too, in sympathy, but Padme didn’t need that right now. She went to get up from the ground, but Padme motioned her away.

 

“No, no, it’s okay,” said Padme, when it clearly wasn’t. Reaching out, Obi-wan put a comforting hand on Padme’s shoulder, thumb massaging circles into the crook of her neck. It was the most intimate with anyone Ahsoka had ever seen him be. She looked away.

 

“I’m sorry,” said Ahsoka, staring at the ground. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

 

“Ani always did love flying,” said Padme, then attempted to suppress a sniffle. From the corner of her eye Ahsoka saw her lean toward Obi-wan, head tilted back as though gravity could force the tears back inside. “I only knew him for a few days, but. We don’t even know how he ended up in that battle. The astromech droid he was with barely survived the explosion, and so little of it’s memory was intact.” 

 

“Artoo survived?” asked Ahsoka, turning toward them, then felt the worst kind of insensitive. Artoo was her friend, but not everyone felt the same way about droids as she and Anakin did. She had no idea how Padme felt on the subject, or even Obi-wan for that matter. She’d never been able to tell if he truly didn’t like them, or was simply teasing Anakin about his ‘attachments’. It was the sort of thing they did, and she’d never asked him about it.

 

“You know the droid?” asked Padme in return, seeming more confused than anything. Obi-wan let his hand slide down behind her shoulder, bringing it back to rest in his lap. He looked down at his hands, a sudden affected indifference making him seem to not be paying attention to their conversation at all.

 

“Yeah, he’s Anakin’s,” said Ahsoka. 

 

“Oh. I wonder how that happened,” said Padme, lips curling in, her curiosity getting the better of her. How had a droid from Naboo gotten into the custody of a Jedi Knight? Ahsoka didn’t like to speculate, it felt like she was straying into far too dangerous territory.

 

Obi-wan seemed to think they had gotten off track. He drew attention to himself by shrugging out of his cloak, the heat of the growing day making it uncomfortable, palpable even through their distant training bond, and draped it over the table he was seated next to. He turned to Padme, his eyes serious, looking every bit the Jedi Master he hadn’t had the chance to be yet. “Padme, the reason we came to Naboo is because this is where the changes took place. We were hoping to find some sort of evidence, enough to launch a formal investigation.”

 

“You mean this isn’t a formal investigation?” Padme asked. “I mean, it all seems a little much to me, but I don’t know anything about the force. If this is the sort of thing it’s capable of-”

 

“All we have to go on right now are Ahsoka’s memories,” said Obi-wan apologetically, cutting in. Padme, looking taken aback at this information, sat up straighter in her chair, drawing away from Obi-wan. Ahsoka hoped they weren’t about to get into another argument. From her place on the grass, shaded out of the sun and therefor cooler than where the other two were sitting, she could only feign indifference to their shifting dynamics for so long. They may be friends, but it seemed more by circumstance than by temperament.

 

“Is there any way we can take a closer look at the point where the change took place?” Obi-wan continued, ignoring Padme’s sour look. 

 

“I-” Padme paused, looking suddenly thoughtful.

 

“Yes?” said Obi-wan.

 

“Now I come to think of it, that region of space has been temporarily restricted because of some anomalous readings. They started about a month ago.”

 

“Oh,” said Obi-wan, “That makes sense.”

 

“How does that make sense?” asked Ahsoka. “It’s been less than a week.” For all it felt like much longer, Anakin’s absence aching like a missing limb.

 

“But your dreams started about a month ago,” said Obi-wan. 

 

“My what?”

 

“You wouldn’t remember now, but you’ve been having restless force dreams, though you could never remember what they were about in the morning. You were worried it was adversely affecting your performance on the battlefield.” Now that she thought about it, he had initially seem convinced that what she’d experienced was some sort of prophetic dream.

 

“You think they have something to do with each other?” she asked.

 

“The thing is Ahsoka, we have no idea whether our hypothetical time traveller is even  _ from _ this time. If they changed events during the blockade, and we’re only just seeing the effects now, it stands to reason they could come from any time after the moment you woke up.”

 

“So you think the dreams I now no longer remember were some sort of initial effect of whatever is happening here, some sort of foreshock before I remembered completely?” 

 

Obi-wan smiled at her, looking suddenly, devastatingly like the Jedi Master she had left behind. “Well reasoned,” he said, and Ahsoka felt herself glow, just a little. Obi-wan Kenobi’s praise was rarely disposed, and always sincere. He was proud of her, she realised. Proud of his Padawan, which was what she was.

“Then we have a starting place?” she asked.

 

“We do if Padme can get us there. You said access was restricted?” Obi-wan asked, slipping out of teaching mode and turning his attention back to Padme. She looked as though her temper had cooled a bit, now they had a direction to work toward.

 

“I think-” she began, but a voice interrupted her from the entrance to the garden.

 

“What is he talking you into this time, Padme?” said an unfamiliar woman, dressed far more simply than Padme, as she emerged from the shadows of the doorway. Ahsoka had the uncomfortable feeling that this was Shmi Skywalker, though she couldn’t spot any particular resemblance to Anakin. Humans could be difficult to tell apart sometimes, at least appearance wise, but her hair was more grey than any other colour. All Ahsoka could assume was that she was to be a bit older than Padme.

 

The woman who was probably Shmi Skywalker crossed the garden in efficient strides, slinging a worn pack on top of Obi-wan’s robe on the table without sparing the man in question so much as a spare glance. In turn, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.

 

“Shmi? I-” Obi-wan paused, and seemed to reconsider what he was about to say. “Thank you for joining us,” he tried instead. He sounded younger somehow, or maybe it was his body language. She’d never seen him look so reserved anywhere but in front of the council.

 

“Padme made it seem important,” said Shmi bruskly, giving a nod to the other woman. Padme nodded numbly back, an uneasy smile now fixed on her face. Ahsoka wondered if she knew she was falling into politician mode, her own feelings on the situation walled back behind her needs must mentality. There always seemed to be too many people whose needs must before Padme Amidala, whatever the reality.

 

“It is,” said Obi-wan. “We were just discussing, well..” he trailed off, suddenly looking to Padme for support. Could what they were investigating be considered confidential information? What was happening in the skies above Naboo almost certainly was.

 

“Anomalous readings in space, yes, I heard,” filled in Shmi. How long had she been listening? And perhaps more importantly, how had neither she nor Obi-wan noticed? The force hadn’t so much as twinged.

 

Obi-wan - maybe not as polished as she remembered him being, but still smoother than most other people she’d met - seemed to be working himself up to something. He gathered his robe up from beneath Shmi’s bag, careful not to tip the contents out as he did, and slid it back on. He seemed taller wearing it, more fortified, ready to look Shmi in the eye and say whatever it was he needed her for. Ahsoka hoped he would be honest about it, as Shmi didn’t seem like the type to be easily lead.

 

“Shmi,” he said, familiar with her even as she brindled, “the anomalous readings we were talking about, they’re from the region of space where the droid control ship was destroyed.”

 

So, technically honest, but dancing around the point. Shmi got it anyway. Her back already up, she narrowed her eyes just slightly, hands clenching into fists half hidden by her sleeves.

 

“Where my son died, you mean,” she said, unwilling to hide the steel in her voice. Alarmed, Padme moved from her position beside Obi-wan, taking several steps toward Shmi before her progress was arrested with a glare.

 

“Yes,” said Obi-wan, studiously ignoring this. “Shmi, there’s no good way to put this, so - we think someone has, well. What do you know about time travel?” There really was no good way to talk about this, Ahsoka thought, and she still wasn’t sure why he felt he had to. Surely it would be kinder not to?

 

“I know people spend a lot of time arguing about whether it’s even possible,” said Shmi, sounding suspicious about where this could be going.

 

“Yes,” said Obi-wan again, then evidently decided he’d just have to come out and say it. “Shmi, we think someone time travelled back to the battle of Naboo and changed something.”

 

“Changed what, Obi-wan,” said Shmi, flatly. But she knew, Ahsoka could tell by the look on her eyes. Obi-wan could too.

 

“Shmi, this is Ahsoka, my Padawan. Ahsoka here remembers your son. As far as she remembers, he was the Jedi teaching her until she woke up in my apartment less than a week ago.” He was trying to be kind, but there really was no way to soften this. As badly as Padme had reacted, she had only known Anakin a few days. And now they were telling his mother. Even Jedi knew what that meant.

 

“You think someone travelled back in time to  _ kill my son? _ ”  Shmi’s voice was as incredulous as it was devastated. Hands shaking, she looked away from Obi-wan, made her way mechanically over to her bag on the table and re-fastened the straps.

 

“I’m sorry, Shmi.”

 

“You. I can’t believe-” She still wasn’t looking at any of them, and instead threw the bag back over her shoulder.

 

“Shmi-” tried Padme, dithering.

 

“You’re always defending him, Padme,” said Shmi woodenly,  not looking back as she made her way toward the door.

 

“I just think perhaps we should look into-” Padme tried again, without much hope.

 

“No. I’m going. I never should have come. The Jedi have bought me nothing but pain and lost dreams, Kenobi most of all.” For all the force of her words, Shmi sounded like she’d had the life sucked out of her. Padme had said she’d been getting better. Why had Obi-wan insisted they do this?

 

“Shmi-” called Obi-wan, desperate. She didn’t so much as pause as she reached for the door.

 

“No,” she said, one final time, and then she was gone. 


End file.
